The Bourne Convergence
by icewitch73
Summary: Marta and Aaron together as two Bourne worlds collide.
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone. This is a short little thing, probably only a couple of chapters, that I'm playing with. I don't want to get into a complex plot or anything, but wanted to play in this world a little bit since there isn't a lot out yet on Aaron/Marta. Also, be warned that Aaron doesn't actually make a physical appearance in the first chapter, but will be arriving in the next. He and Marta are my main focus. Oh, and a few other characters from the Bourne world will likely pop up in small ways.

Thanks for reading. :)

The Bourne Convergence

Ch. 1

Dr. Samantha Reid typed the last digit into the antiquated desktop computer before her. It was at least ten years old but it ran, which meant that it was a valued piece of equipment in the remote regions of Africa where she found herself currently residing. She rubbed a hand across her forhead, futily trying to wipe away the heat that constantly touched her skin. She glanced at the clock, growing worried by the late hour. Midnight was approaching, which meant that he was late.

He was never late.

She rose from the worn wooden chair at her makeshift desk - an old fibreglass table from decades past - rubbing the stiffness from her neck as best she could. Worrying was not going to change the situation. She had a village to finish innoculating, and a new lease on life to carry out because she was Dr. Samantha Reid and she belonged here.

A loud _kthonk _along the outer wall drew her attention, and she froze, listening intently for any sign of..._life._ The only thing she heard was the pounding of her fear as it pumped against her ribs.

"Abebi?" she called out carefully, desperate for the familiar lilt of her assistant's high pitched tenor.

Thick silence reached out to greet her, threading itself around her throat and beginning to squeeze. She moved across the wide, tented area that served as her clinic. It was never what she had imagined while attending Harvard or Oxford, but it was medicine and for that she was truly grateful. Science was where all the answers of the universe could be found. She walked slowly to the doorway, easing open the cheap plywood and staring into the blackness of the surrounding night. There was nothing to see, nothing out of the ordinary. In the distance were the subdued voices of villagers as they gathered in their modest dwellings. Most were settled, slumbering away because the dawn would be here soon enough, but a few could be heard whispering.

She frowned, feeling ridiculous that at this stage in her turbulent life a little noise would freak her out! She returned to her office, wanting to double check her data entries and then head home for a few winks of solid sleep herself.

She wouldn't worry about him, he was fine. He was always fine.

_kthonk_

Samantha stood again, quickly turning off the monitor light that provided a perfect sillouette for anyone paying close attention. She went to the corner of the room, considering her best options for vacating. This was beginning to feel very, very wrong. Her heart was picking up speed and she didn't like it. She stayed close to the wall, listening while she moved, but the sound was gone for the second time and it was wreaking considerable havoc over her calm.

Maybe they stayed too long?

_kthonk_

Working off of instinct, she went to the storage area on the opposite side of the room and used a nearby pair of shears to slice through the thick canvas of the covering tent. In moments she was outside, feeling exposed, even as the darkness welcomed her. What the hell was she thinking working this late? She followed the tent slowly, inching toward the corner, both needing and fearing the source of the noise that was sending her into panic. How many times did he warn her to stay close to people, to hide in plain sight, to BLEND?

_Idiot!_ she scolded inwardly, realizing too late that alone in the desert with a computer and microscope was the exact _opposite_ of belonging. These people were farmers. _Moron!_

She blew out a hurried breath, adding frustration to the miriad of emotions that were swamping her. Gripping the edge of the dusty material with shaky fingers, she peered around the corner and finally let herself breathe when there was nothing there to meet her. Only blackness and silence and no boogeymen at all. She stood straight, smiling softly in relief.

Dr. Reid turned again, wanting to go home and flop onto her cot and forget all about this little embarassment that she would definitely be keeping to herself. She got half a gasp out of her red lips, before a pair of sharp blue eyes shot straight through her. A scream rose from somewhere deep, but quickly died as nothing more than a pathetic squeak, when another form came barelling out of nowhere. She watched, stricken, as the blue eyed man battled it out with a uniform, African Army. Judging by the very large knife being waved around, neither was uninterested in conversation. The tussle continued, fast and deadly, until the soldier was sailing through the wall of the clinic and snapping her out of her frozen state.

The things blue eyes could do, she's seen them before.

He was fast, too fast, and then his large hand was over her mouth in a tight grip. They were both squatting in the red-tinged dirt of the desert, so out of place in this simple part of the world.

"Do you want to live?" he voiced, momentarily jettisoning her backwards in time, to another place with another man who was astoundingly late now more than ever.

She couldn't answer, not with an iron clasp over her mouth, so she nodded, fighting to keep her tears from falling. A finger pointed beyond the front of the tent entryway, where she watched in horror as several military jeeps came to a dramatic hault. Men with guns and camoflage tumbled out, taking up flanks along their obvious leader. She recognized him immediately. It was Eric Byer.

"Dr. Shearing," the mystery hero whispered against her ear, ruffling the dark tresses of her hair, "I suggest you follow me." He released her and moved further into the shadows. She glanced one last time at the devil who was forever hounding her, once again shattering her life - such as it was. She couldn't stay here.

Marta followed her companion, wondering a lot of things: how did they find her, who was this dark man with cold eyes, and where the hell was Aaron? The last sent ice through her veins, trying not to logic that there was a chance he was gone for good.

He was never, ever late.

She bit her lip, continuing forward with as much speed and stealth as she could muster.

_...you can do it, you're a warrior..._

She never really believed that when he said it, but even less now, in the dark with a mystery someone and no safety net in sight. She didn't hesitate when the man pulled up in a stolen and hotwired jeep, joining him and going wherever he wanted to take her. She didn't waver when they fled from the village that she spent the past 7 months making into a home. Dr. Samantha Reid was dead in the water. Dr. Marta Shearing was once again in the wind.

There were so many unexplained things now, but only one that truly mattered. Would she see him again? If he was out there, she knew she would. _...and he is out there..._ She believed that, despite the rational thought that was trying to snuff the last of her childish, science-less faith.

_Hurry up, Cross!_ she thought in frustration, holding onto the cold metal of the jeep door as the road began to get truly bumpy...bumpier than usual.

The irony was not lost on her.


	2. Chapter 2

My apologies to all, in the first chapter I called Ric Byer by the incorrect name of Eric. (still annoyed by that, lol) It has been corrected.

The Bourne Convergence

Ch. 2

The sun was moving higher in the sky. In about an hour it would make a fast exit, sliding below the horizon and leaving another darkness in its wake. She eased against the white suede of her deck chair, trying not to appreciate the softness and luxury that it provided. She crossed her elbows over the round glass table for two, intimate and pristine in setting. The city was bustling around them, but the water was steady and inviting, hiding all the dangers of the ocean beneath the smooth surface. That is how Marta felt on the inside, roiling and full of danger, hidden behind a polish of calm. She never expected to find herself here, on a 100 foot yacht converted into an exclusive floating restaurant. Yesterday she was knee deep in disease and starvation and dirt, and today she was seated on the deck of one of the most expensive dining experiences available to the impressive city of Cape Town, South Africa.

Shouldn't they be in hiding somewhere, far from the prying eyes of the CIA or any other government letters that could be interested in finding them?

"You haven't touched your souffle," her rescuer proclaimed, rejoining her and reminding that she was in a fancy lavender dress while Aaron was God knows where right now. "You should eat while you can. Once the plane leaves I can't say when we'll have a chance to eat again."

"I didn't agree to get on a plane with you." Her voice was cold, but how could she leave, truly leave? He leaned forward carefully, studying her with a calculating gaze that was beginning to grate just under the skin, like a thorn. "Look," she began, losing control of her temper, "I think I've been exceedingly polite under the circumstances, but..."

"Marta," he interupted, using her first name firmly to capture her undivided attention. "You know who that was in your village." She swallowed, and he could see the answer in her bright gaze as she focussed on the threat he was conveying. "Ric Byer is here and he is looking for you, so you and I will be on the next plane out of Africa."

She frowned, increasingly pissed off! "You saved my life back there and I thank you, but I'm not going anywhere until you give me a reason. Who are you? How did you find me, WHY did you find me? How do I know you're not sitting with me on this boat and having fresh Calamari, while waiting for Ric Byer to join us?"

He smirked in amusement, taking a quick bite of the very Calamari that she meant as a mocking jab and not a tempting snack offering. "Dr. Shearing, you ask a lot of questions. You'll get your answers, but right now your lunch is getting cold and at these prices that is criminal."

She studied him closely, trying to see him the way Aaron would. He was medium build and height, average colouring, bright eyes that could mask emotion at the drop of a hat. He moved like Aaron, fought like him, thought like him, but there was something colder there. Something missing that she couldn't put her finger on? "You lost somebody important to you, didn't you?" she blurted, instantly frightened by the anger that took over once the shock wore off. She definitely managed to surprise him with that one.

"Eat your lunch," he insisted, not even pretending to be cordial anymore.

She took a slow breath, curling her long hair behind her ears. "You know, you look at me like I'm the enemy but I'm not. I'm not the enemy."

The rigidity in his spine eased a little, beginning to see more to this woman than initially expected. "You sure about that?" he taunted lightly, taking another bite of food. "You experimented on people. You kept secrets. You worked for _them._"

She swallowed hard, finding the truth to his words difficult to hear. "I did terrible things," she reluctantly admitted, feeling the sting of shame and regret that she would always carry. "I was there for the science, and I let myself hide behind that same science and I have to live with that." He didn't say anything, he just sat there, content to let her flounder. It made her brave. "What do you have to live with?"

It took a long time for him to respond. "You can't even imagine." He took another bite of breaded squid.

Marta blew out a sharp, aggrevated breath. This conversation was more circular than their perfect table. "So what? We are waiting for Byer?" He tilted his head, amused all over again. "I'm bait, is that it? Why not just let him have me in the village?"

The man wiped his mouth and pushed his plate aside, leaning forward so that they were face to face and eye to eye. "Who says it's Byer I'm waiting for?"

_Aaron._ He was here for Aaron, but that meant that he was alive...or could be if Byer didn't have him. Her heart jumped. "Who the hell are you?"

He stared with intent, obviously deciding whether he would bother with an answer before putting her out of her misery. "You can call me, Jason Bourne."

She frowned, piecing together what little she knew about the name, which wasn't a lot. "You're more charming than I expected you to be," she waited half a beat, "but that's not saying much."

His lip curled, realizing with some surprise that he was actually starting to like the good doctor. "It's a learning process."

"What do you want with Aaron?" Silence. She tried again. "How did you find us?"

"That wasn't easy," he admitted, pointing to the plate and relaxing once she started to pick at her salad. "He's good."

"He's very good. He'll come for me."

Jason found her troubled eyes. "I'm counting on that."

Marta took a long drink of the white wine in her glass, draining it pretty quickly. A waiter appeared at her side and poured more, and she swallowed again, eager to feel the small buzz that was building just behind her eyes. Logically, alcohol was not the way to go in this survival of the fittest situation, but screw logic because she needed a drink. "Do you really think that I'll help you hurt him?"

This time he chuckled, but the sound didn't quite hold the mirth that it should. "For a scientist, you jump to a lot of conclusions." That made her head snap up in attention. He could see the fire behind her fresh anger. Oh yes, he definitely had her focus. "Eat your lunch Marta."

She felt like she was being scolded like a child. "Why such a public display? Aaron won't be the only one looking for us."

He was growing tired of explaining himself. "Look, I need a word with your boyfriend."

"He's not my..." She stopped talking, putting down her fork and crossing her arms across her chest. "You couldn't just walk up and knock on a door like a normal person?" This time Jason did laugh with mirth. He took a drink of his own. "What?"

He ran a quick hand over his face. "And if I walked up to your door and asked to speak to Aaron Cross, what do you suppose would have happened?"

She took another drink, annoyed that the attentive waiter has vanished in her time of need. "He probably would have killed you."

He stared hard. "He would have tried."

She chuckled in amusement, seeing this situation with the appropriate level of absurdity. She glanced down at the fancy dress that wrapped around her tightly. "So you think that taking me out to a nice dinner will keep him from trying to kill you?"

He was shaking his head in mild disappointment. "You have tunnel vision when you tackle a problem, Marta. Were you like that in your lab too?" Her mouth opened for a moment, ready to let her angry thoughts rip, before she managed to reclaim her temper. He certainly appreciated the effort. "It's not about whether or not he'll try to kill me, it's about helping him find us quickly." He glanced at his ticking watch. "In two hours we have a plane to catch and we will be on it. The only question now is, will Cross be joining us?"

She looked at the wine that was flowing freely into her glass, as the miracle waiter stood to her right in a fitted pair of dark jeans. Wait, jeans? Her eyes rose to a familiar set of grey, releasing a flurry of anxious butterflies through her blood stream. Her miracle waiter wasn't a waiter at all.

She watched in shock as the half bottle of wine was being used as a club, narrowly missing the head of one super secret agent, Jason Bourne. He was flipping backwards on his chair and rolling into a fight position, and then he and Aaron were viciously attacking one another amid the fancy tables set for rich dining. The whole moment was as surreal as it got.

They were so fast, so accurate. She watched in wide-eyed horror as things continued to escalate between them. Aaron lobbied a few succinct kicks that landed Jason temporarily to his knees, but his counter was equally effective. She could hear the crack of a blow in Aaron's ribs, and she wondered how many just broke from the impact? Other than a split second wince to the pain, you couldn't even tell that he was struck at all.

Marta finally pulled her gaze away and toward her erupting surroundings, vaguely aware that the patrons of the restaurant were trying to flee the chaos. One man in slick Armani was not so lucky, getting bumped hard enough to send him sailing over the polished Mahogony railing and into the depths of the ice cold Atlantic Ocean. _Holy crap!_ They were going to kill each other. "Stop it!" she screamed loudly, vying for attention and failing miserably.

She had to do something?

The glint of a large butcher blade flashed under the chandelier lighting, and without further thought, she rushed forward and placed herself between the two that were hell-bent on destroying one another. "Stop, stop it," she tried again, turning to Aaron who was beyond pissed at her boneheaded move, "he saved me," she pushed, needing him to get it. She turned quickly, staring at a surprised blue. "Enough, Jason. This isn't the way to have a conversation." He grinned and she wanted to deck him, but she also felt a tremendous sense of relief flow through her because he was gingerly placing the large blade onto the top of a nearby bar.

Marta spun slowly, seeing a lot in the man across from her. He was listening, which meant that he was trusting her, but the confusion and anger was smothering in its intensity. Yep, he was definitely pissed with her! She cleared her dry throat, about to plead her case when the distinct sound of sirens filled the air in the distance.

"We have to move," Jason said, collecting his jacket and walking up to the man who moments ago wanted to end his life and badly. "We have a flight to catch." He walked toward the boarding plank and then exited the boat, making quick work of the docks as those sirens drew closer.

She blinked, waiting for him to make a move for the both of them. In the end he simply took her hand and led her away like he always did. She felt just as safe as she always did, but things were needing to be cleared up between them. He was so angry, so hurt, and it fed her own confusion and doubt. Wherever they ended up, well...it would be interesting?

In the meantime she followed him without question, allowing a small smile to touch her because he was here.

He was alive.

That was a great place to start.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi everyone! I'm sorry for the delay. I've been working some crazy shift work lately and haven't had a lot of free time to write. I hope you're still interested in this story. I'm already working on chapter four and will try to have it up as soon as possible, but in the interum I have my tomato shield ready. :)

Thanks for reading.

The Bourne Convergence

Ch. 3

The wheels touched the loose dirt with a jarring _thud,_ and Marta felt her heart leap with an equally disturbing strength. She tried to remind herself that she was a seasoned traveller with extensive aircraft experience, thanks to important studies and conferences abroad, renown lectures and top secret government protocols. She fought to remember that even though a flight could be a little rough, it was statistically the safest form of travel. However, none of that was helping as the tiny four-passenger plane bounced along a runway that was nothing more than a line of dirt in a field of long, wheat-like grass.

The force of speed was terrifying as it pushed her securely into her seat, taking all the solid facts in her brain and shaking them loose. Her nerves were stretching thin, threatening to snap as they continued to bound through pitch black night. It was moments like these that made her long for the sanctity of a money pit farmhouse in Maryland. Merely a year ago, she was a respected doctor in the complex and exciting world of ground breaking virology, technology and science. Today, now, she was a scared woman on a hurdling plane at the outskirts of Durban, South Africa.

Nothing fit the way it used to.

She glanced to her right, studying the man who has more or less become her everything in their short time together. Whether that was healthy, is something she didn't bother to put too much thought into, but he was her one constant. His blond hair was dirty from traversing the desert in record time, and his skin was stained with sweat. The lines around his eyes told a very clear story, and he needed to sleep, no doubt from racing to her rescue for the millionth time. She wished she could do something supportive for him.

Still. Selfishly she was grateful that he was here with her now.

"Easy," he encouraged, on a gruff whisper.

As if reading her mind, his strong fingers reached out to clutch her white knuckles with warmth and caring. It made her pounding heart pause for half-a-second, and then as the wheels began to slow and finally stop, it made things in her chest speed up all over again. He had an uncanny ability to think of her, even under extreme circumstances.

He was still pissed, because he has barely looked at her directly for the better part of this latest journey. He was trusting her to some degree. After the restaurant, she filled him in on the events of her previous night, and he took stock of the information with his usual air of caution. Aaron The Unflappable would be his superhero name. She knew he was trusting her because they were with Bourne, and so that hopefully meant _something? _

Marta sighed, refocussing on the newest super spy to grace her presence. He was standing from his seat alongside the pilot, slipping into his sharp black blazer, and shouldering a nondescript backpack that probably held the same survival essentials that Aaron had in his matching bag. He had the same cool look on his face that Cross wore whenever he was focussed. Jason stalked past in a hurry, opening up the plane so that they could continue on without preamble.

"We have some time to make up," he snapped, before hopping out of the exit and leaving them behind.

"Doc, we gotta move."

She nodded awkwardly, following the instruction on shaky legs. Then Bourne was helping her to the ground and dragging her toward a parked jeep, and the last thing she saw before it was too dark was the look of fury on Aaron's face.

"Get in."

Marta frowned, tired of being lead like a stray puppy.

This jeep ride was not any better than the last one she took. The wind was picking up along with the storm that was incoming and quickly. Her bare arms were riddled with goosebumps, and she rubbed them futily, trying to erase the whispers of cool wind. Heavy leather hit her lap with a thud, and she glanced over, just in time to see Aaron staring at her with those soft, gentle eyes that spoke more than the man himself. It didn't last long. His wall was up again, and she sighed, slipping into the coat gratefully.

He still wasn't looking at her. It bothered way more than it should.

She curled into the warm cloth that draped too long over her arms, before snapping her attention to a curious set of eyes in the rearview mirror. Jason was watching her closely as he drove. She frowned in irritation, and when he grinned in obvious amusement, her frown deepened again.

Running was becoming common place and she was starting to adapt to the sensation, but running with two arrogant super spies who seemed constantly amused by her plight...that was beginning to get on her last nerve.

The smell of the ocean got stronger as they approached the coastline, and that's when she understood why they flew here. They would be leaving by boat. It wasn't totally unappealing. Her last sailing excursion had a ton of good memories attached to it. The fisherman and his son were amazing and generous, and she and Aaron were finally able to let their guard down a little and just..._be._ They had been on the troller for two solid weeks, and that's the part that didn't sit well with her. It was a long time to be at sea.

She watched Jason and Aaron rush down the dock expecting her to follow, and so she did, albeit slowly. Heels and rickety carpentry didn't mix well. The water was slamming the wood pretty hard, and she didn't relish the idea of being out on a boat when this storm hit full force. She wasn't sure her stomach could take the abuse. They were arguing heatedly with a man she could only assume was the captain, but the words were in an African dialect that she couldn't place.

"Doc," Aaron shouted, staring over the railing with impatience, "try to keep up!"

Marta blinked, surprised by the tone of his voice. Even in the beginning, when they were thrown together and at odds, he never spoke quite so coldly. She stepped onto the plank and moved carefully, climbing aboard another old fishing junk that blended with the dozen other one's in this marina.

Things happened quickly and they were underway, and she leaned against the nearest wall expecting to be shoved below deck for safety. Instead, her super spies stood face to face, with a few tense feet separating them. Both were perched casually against he railing and both were watching the other in muted silence. She was missing something? They just stood there, watching, staring comfortably as the shoreline faded from view and the waves grew more choppy the farther out they got. Her heart was pounding against her nervous breast. Were they going to fight, kill one another? Were they going to do _anything_ besides stare in some sort of weird battle of wills that she wasn't comprehending?

Fourty-five long minutes later, found them all in the same uncomfortable spot with nothing but the moon to guide them. The lights of Durban were in the distance now, lost to the blackness of the night.

"I need some sleep," Jason said at last, breaking the stone cold silence that was choking in its intensity. He glanced quickly at the doctor and smirked, and then disappeared below, leaving her more confused about what in the hell was going on?

"Come on," Aaron blurted, taking her hand and finally leading her below the way she had expected nearly an hour before.

"What was that all about?" He didn't answer. "Aaron?"

She found herself in a small room with a bunk only marginally wider than a single-sized bed. There was a table and two chairs along the far wall, a shoddy dresser with three drawers, and a door to a bathroom with a stand-alone shower and toilet. This was far more luxurious than on her last fishing junk.

He walked around the space, inspecting the bathroom before tossing his bag onto the thin mattress with a heavy _thud._

Her eyes narrowed. "Well?" Nothing, just thick silence as he leaned against the lip of the table and crossed his strong arms over his chest. "Are you going to tell me why you're so mad at me?"

He frowned, looking a little sad underneath the flames. "I'm not..."

She slipped off her heels, picking them up and holding them tightly in her left hand. "Please don't start lying to me now?" That got his attention.

He took a quick breath. "I guess I'm sorry."

"For what?"

There was his anger again. "For interupting your date."

Marta blinked in surprise. Well... There you have it. At least now they were finally going to get things out into the open, instead of pretending that nothing has changed in the past year.

Her stomach clenched tightly, more afraid than when there were bullets flying past her head.

She dropped her shoes to the rough wooden floor beneath her toes. It was time to stop running.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay in an update, but life has been CRACK-A-LACKA lately. Hopefully this makes up for it? Honestly, I hate the ending, but after tinkering and tinkering I just have to let it go and move forward. There is probably only one chapter left after this one, though it might stretch into two. Thank you to all who have read, reviewed, followed/favorited. I appreciate the interest more than I can say. So...without further ado...

* * *

The Bourne Convergence

Ch. 4

The quarters were confined, cramped and designed for one person, but with all the thick angst flooding the air, it made things impossibly tighter. She didn't know what to say at first. _Date?_ "You don't really believe that?" He almost looked like he didn't, but he wasn't disputing the claim either and so she wasn't sure? "Aaron, you were late." It was all the explanation she could manage to get out.

He nodded and dropped his gaze to the floor, running a quick hand over his boyish face, the one hidden under a couple days worth of stubble. "I know."

She took a step closer. "I wondered whether..." Her voice trailed off for a weak moment. "I thought that maybe..."

"...I was dead," he finished for her, finding her worried gaze and holding it. It made the heart in his chest beat a little stronger.

She nodded, ringing her hands nervously and feeling very exposed all of a sudden. "Jason showed up and got me out of there, and I'm not going to apologize for choosing to live."

He smiled softly. "I don't want you to apologize, doc, it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do."

"So why are you so angry?"

He swallowed, shaking his head and feeling the weight of the truth that was slowly strangling him. "I'm not angry, I'm just..."

"What?" she nearly shouted in frustration.

He squared his shoulders, staring hard. "You seem comfortable with Bourne," she blinked, "and you look great, by the way." The edge to his tone was back. His gaze raked over the lavender dress carefully, incriminating in its judgement.

Marta scoffed aloud, not bothering to hide her hurt. "So you think that I assumed you dead and decided, what the hell, I may as well eat with the new guy?"

He stood slowly, shaking his head because that wasn't the point at all. "I think that now..." He stopped, blowing out a breath of annoyance. "You should understand that there are options."

She had a genius IQ that surpassed even the super-sized intellect of the designed man across from her, but she wasn't getting his true meaning in the slightest. "What are you talking about?"

He frowned, easing back onto the table so that he could wrap his hands around the edge of the wood and hold on. "I'm saying that there are," he paused briefly, clearing his throat, "_other_ ways to ensure your safety."

"Oh." It was a miracle her voice worked at all.

It was incredibly stuffy in this room.

He couldn't take it anymore and stood again, walking closer but keeping enough space so as not to touch her. He found her large eyes and got lost in them. "If you wanted, really wanted, we could consider other arrangements."

She couldn't breathe.

He grinned wistfully, tucking a stray hair behind her ear before collecting himself. "Marta, I owe you everything."

That woke her up from her numbed state. She knew she was awake because her heart was cracking in her chest.

_Owe...I owe you..._

"Right, yeah," she muttered lightly, turning toward the bunk and beginning to fuss with the old sheets. "No," she breathed aloud, trying to wrap her head around what he was saying to her, "I'm sorry, I never thought about, I mean, I should have realized..."

His hand touched her arm and she flinched, moving backward on instinct. She found the wounded expression on his face and swallowed. "I'm sorry that I never stopped to consider what this was doing," she illustrated by waving her hand between them. "You and I both know that they wouldn't be able to touch you if it wasn't for me. They'd never get close enough." She moved again, putting more space between them until the wall of the bathroom prevented anymore distance. "I've learned a ton about survival and you're a great teacher Aaron." He was just looking at her. "I'm sure we can come up with something that will work better for the both of us." She really couldn't breathe.

He watched her from the moment she started to ramble, taking in her hurt and anxiety with every stroke of his well-trained eye. The rigidity of her spine told him of her bravery, something he was already well acquainted with, and the professional tone in her voice spoke more about her mask than the true emotions she was feeling and trying to hide from him.

He walked forward until they were face to face, both arms bracketing her securely against the cracked wall like an impenetrable fence. She wasn't going anywhere, not yet, not like this. Her dark eyes rose slowly, finding him with caution. It twisted him up inside to see such uncertainty shining back. "I didn't come after you out of obligation." His frown felt immovable. She blinked and swallowed, but didn't shy away, and he could feel his blood stir. "Marta, you're not some debt to be repaid. You have to know that?"

She believed him.

The thing about Number Five that has always been different from the other project participants, was the truth that flashed from his slate eyes. He was deadly and capable of horrible things. He was a soldier whose abilities went far beyond the normal expectations. He was methodical, intelligent, composed and determined, and he _wanted_ to be more for his country and for his honor. But...

She licked her lips, fighting a growing flame in her belly as he continued to study her closely, so deliciously close. His breath warmed her lips and made her mouth water and her heart beat.

Despite all the skills and duty, despite a shocking will to survive at all cost and the frame of mind to succeed no matter the situation, more than anything else he was Aaron. The person who bucked the system and flirted with her on thirteen separate occasions over four years. The man who dropped from a rooftop in Manilla to rescue her though his need for her services was no longer required. The guy who taught her to live and like it, even when everything she has ever known was lost. He had the widest heart, and no amount of training could strip it away. She saw him, his truth, and a small smile touched the edge of her lips a split second before he was finally kissing her firmly, slowly, with soft intent. It was innocent and sweet, and a long, long time coming.

It felt inevitable.

Aaron stayed stock still, gently retreating enough to find her gorgeous face with his own apprehension. This was uncharted territory for them. It changed everything, flipped it upside down and backwards until nothing was the same. He held his breath and waited, and when she opened her eyes he finally released the air from his lungs in a heavy rush. Her bright, clear desire was electric under his skin, and he didn't hesitate in kissing her again and deepening the contact with his own telltale need.

Her nails were at his neck, scraping the short hair and putting a new type of tension in his hard body. He has wanted her for awhile, long before he was anything more than a number attached to some bloodwork, and though he should probably spend a little time trying to figure out why that is, it wasn't going to happen right now.

Her moan sparked against his searching tongue, and he felt the contact drop between his legs with a swiftness. It wasn't the only thing. "Marta," he breathed, the sound hitching in his throat when her hand began to stroke him enthusiastically against his restrictive jeans. _Fuck!_ He never let his mind go there too directly before, but he always suspected she was a _get-to-the-point_ kind of girl, and her aggressive toying with the hardening cock in his pants sort of supported his hunch.

He pressed her into the wall, using his body to pin her securely and kiss her soundly and with promise. Her whimpers were swallowed eagerly, making him ache as they made out unrestrained in the bowels of a thrashing ship. She scratched his ribs, trying to work his burgundy tshirt off his body, and the sharp intake of his breath stopped them in their fevered tracks.

"How bad is it?" she croaked, remembering the resounding crack when Bourne's fist landed at that damn floating restaurant. That seemed like a lifetime ago now. "Are they broken?"

He curled into her neck and chuckled lightly, breathing for control over a body that was not in physical pain but physical torture. It was not lost on him that she was the one that couldn't shut off the practical side of her nature, and though it was cute, he preferred to focus on the nipples that were poking through lavender silk and driving him a particular brand of crazy.

He finally found her patient doctor gaze, wanting to be looking into them when she shattered into a million hot pieces. "It's good," he answered, biting her lower lip playfully for half a second, "just a little tender." He liked the way she bit that same lip in response.

She stared, trying to determine whether he was blowing her off or being honest. "We could wrap them? It might make your breathing easier."

Aaron grinned, sliding his flat palms over her round hips and tearing the zipper at her lower back with strength. He rubbed her shoulders and dragged the straps of her gown away, watching as the cloth fell into a pool at her feet. "It's not sore ribs affecting my breathing, doc." He really needed to touch her everywhere.

She lifted his shirt again, taking a much easier approach at undressing him. The material went soaring across the old wooden floor, and Marta was studying him with renewed interest. She knew him well, the perfect muscle that worked more efficiently than mere mortals, and the smooth scars that he never talked about unless it was pertinent to her knowing how they came to be. This was different though, now was...different. She could appreciate how he made her breath actually stick in her throat like a lead weight. He was so beautiful. She could run her hands over his body to feel the thumping of his strong heart. It wasn't about blood cell counts or burn dosages. It was Aaron.

"Am I losing you?" he teased, forcing eye contact with a smile on his lips.

She shook her head, snapping out of her wonder long enough to flush with embarassment. She really wanted him, every hot and strong inch. Marta bent to the yellowing, ugly bruise at his side, running her tongue over the wound with care. She smiled, brushing her soft lips over the sore spot as a large shudder ripped through him from head to toe. He had her head and then he had her lips, and she sighed into the depths of his hungry mouth as they resumed their exploration.

He was good at this. She wasn't surprised since he was good at everything else, but he was really, really good at this - and he had on way too many clothes. She pulled on the front of his jeans, popping the button and tugging a little, and then she was panting heavily into the room because he was travelling the skin of her neck and leaving a trail of wet fire as he moved. _Lord._

He stopped, stopped everything, and she blinked in shock and confusion as he hovered over her with his hands once again on the flat surface of the wall. Her heart was tripping on itself with excitement. There was his truth, right where it always was, staring straight through her. He wanted to do things to her and fuck if she didn't want that too. "Aaron." His grin rung her out completely, twisting her into a knot of anticipation.

This man.

He ran his finger over her collarbone, appreciating the softness of her unmarked skin. She was a thing of beauty and he had permission to touch her. It was... This felt important. He started on the plump bottom lip that beckoned to him fiercely, and then he pulled his gaze lower, taking in every bare piece that he could find - the swell of her perfect breasts pushing against a basic white bra, and the narrow V of her slender waistline. Her ribs were a little gaunt, and so when he was through making her tremble and scream, he would find her a healthy meal and get her to eat it. She was going to need her strength. He grinned again, deliriously happy at the thought.

His visual tour of her body continued, and he swallowed hard. Her panties were small and white and looked incredibly soft to the touch. They weren't fancy Victoria Secret specials, but there was absolutely nothing unattractive about the shiny material. He couldn't really imagine her looking bad in anything though. She was stunning.

Whenever he would sit on a cold exam table waiting to be stuck with more needles, a part of him would wonder what Dr. Shearing looked like beneath her stuffy lab coat. It was pure fantasy of course - the librarian with the medical degree - but now here they were together and she was a _very _willing participant to what was happening here.

_The doctor and her spy!_

He honed in on the black thigh high stockings that went with the discarded lavender dress. He frowned a little, not thrilled that Bourne was so thorough with his disguises. "Tell me doc," he began gruffly, taking a step backward and lifting his hand in offering, "you sure this is the move you want to make?" He waited to see if she would take his palm.

She didn't hesitate.

"Aaron," she replied, staring at him unwaveringly, "we started making this move in Manilla. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of pretending otherwise."

He smiled again, and it was bright. It reflected the happiness and relief that came to life at her declaration. "Yeah," he acknowledged, sliding a fist into her hair and tugging a little.

"Yeah," she breathed heatedly.

He nodded.

Marta blinked, stuck on the intensity that was shining from deep grey with flecks of soft blue, mesmerizing in their power over her. Their attraction has been mutual long before it was allowed, and now there was nothing between them, not even their forced denial. It was overwhelming...and it was seductive. She moved in reverse, stopping short when the bunk hit her across the back of her thighs, and she reached behind and opened her bra. The cloth disappeared at their feet. His eyes boiled, taking in the sight of her and she felt that familiar shake in her bones again. It only compounded when he bent forward and kissed her desperately and a little sloppy. She could taste his need. His rough fingers raked her spine, and she panted unevenly while he nipped her chin before sinking lower, wetting her hot skin on the way to her bare chest.

He didn't want to play anymore.

Aaron sank into her, kissing her like it was something he has dreamt about for most of his adult life, at least the good part. His hands were travelling, discovering her lush chest and feeling the weight with appreciative interest. His thumbs pressed against her nipples, causing a distinctly sexual gasp to vibrate along his eager tongue. Everything was so much better than he ever imagined in the restrictive confines of his imagination. She was very real, and warm, and soft enough to make him throb.

She was opening his pants and sliding into his fitted boxers, and he sucked in sharply over her smiling lips. He pushed at the waist of his jeans, shoving the heavy material away with her enthusiastic help. The _swish _and _thud_ were the best sounds in the room, that is until he twisted her nipple and made her cry out in surprise. His thundering heart stopped pumping. The only beat was in his cock.

She didn't really need that much foreplay. Truthfully, since that fateful day in a Maryland farmhouse their entire relationship has been a gradual build up of tension. Marta kissed his chest, memorizing his unique flavour while they both removed his underwear in less than ten seconds of effort. His wide palms were on her lower back, gripping her with strength and tossing her onto the one-man bunk with ease. It was a smart move. Now she could wrap her legs around him the way she longed to do.

He pressed against her, hissing at the intimate contact. There was no way to disguise her desire, it was soaking into the satin of her panties and warming his burning flesh as he ground harder. "AARON!" she shouted, chuckling when he was cooing in her ear, encouraging her to keep the volume down a bit.

Marta bit her lip hard.

He tilted her closer and slid their last barrier away, and when it was flesh on hot, aching flesh - she leaned forward and bit _his_ lip this time.

He responded, entering her in one devastating thrust, and the look of total surrender on her flushed face nearly did him in before they got truly started. He concentrated on his breathing, trying not to notice the way she was leaning backward and propping herself up on her elbows. Her head dropped, exposing the smooth line of her neck, and he thrust again, watching intently as her breasts bounced in time with their bodies. He was in a lot of trouble.

His hands moved on their own, no longer taking direction from his burnt out brain. This was all instinct, and instinct told him to do whatever he had to do to keep her writhing and sexy and in his line of sight. _Shit!_ He began to move carefully, enjoying the display in front of him as her occasional gasp made him tighten everywhere. She lifted her head and sought out his eyes, and he bent quickly, overrun with a need to kiss her slow and deep. It was erotic. He never really did erotic before Dr. Shearing.

He shifted again, sharpening the roll of his hips until her stunted air began to transform into tiny cries of pleasure. Oh yeah, this was working for the both of them. Fuck, she was wet. He kissed down her perfect neck, stopping to suck at the pulse point that was pounding an insane rhythm into his blood. Her body was gripping him, pulling. He wanted more and badly.

Marta wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders, holding on while he played her like a finely tuned instrument. She was no stranger to sex or intimacy, and almost married a man who she thought was her equal in every conceivable way. They had been amazing together, wonderful, but never quite so sinfully consuming as what was happening here. She felt different, she felt safe. Maybe it was just the level of focus that Aaron naturally put into every thing he did, or maybe it was because she trusted him so profoundly that she was pretty sure she'd kill for him if it came to that?

Maybe it was because he was the most real thing she's ever known?

Whatever it was, it was working and very well. Her heart was about to combust in her chest, and her arms tightened around him, allowing her nails to scrape over his smooth, imperfect skin. His air burned against her neck, and then he was sucking a taut nipple into the moist cavern of his mouth and she was screaming out, ignoring his earlier suggestion wholeheartedly.

His knee rose onto the bunk, forcing them together so deeply that she blinked, wide-eyed at the full sensation as he settled into her overwrought body. He thrust hard, and again, fucking her while curling tightly into her neck and pushing them both to the end of their long distance race. Her legs grabbed ahold, keeping up with his assertions until there was nowhere left to go but up.

And up was fabulous!

She screamed one last piercing time, convulsing around him while he continued to rock into her body with smooth, sure strokes. Everything crashed. It fell. She shook around him, breathing past the gibberish that was pouring from her throat like a flood.

All she could do was hold on and breathe. She never felt so good in her entire life.

He was losing his control, which was a little scary for him. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, but his body was listening to the shouts from her lips and the corresponding wave as she stretched against him, and so there was no way to stop his urgency as he climbed onto the thin mattress and began to fuck her. He closed his eyes, squeezing as he moved, hiding in the inviting crook of her soft neck. She was pressure personified and he wouldn't have it any other way. He jutted, rutted, dug hard and deep. The rhythm he had was long gone, and then all he knew was the feel of her exploding around him and falling over the very cliff that he was about to leap off of head first.

He lifted his head quickly, watching as she shattered, taking in the widening pupils and the reckless air. He got his moment - to see her come undone - and now it was his turn. Aaron buried his face into her silky hair and cried out, forgetting that it wasn't exactly _stealth_ to be shouting into the night. He let himself go, cumming with a fierceness that stole the last of his cry and killed it on the spot. He held her, shaking through his orgasm, and when it was over he fell, surprisingly comfortable with the vulnerable state that he suddenly found himself in.

That was... He lay perfectly still, shivering as her nails danced over his lower back and the top of his bare ass in comfort.

She squirmed a little and he rose slowly, using his arms to give her a break from his dead body weight. He opened his mouth to speak, but wasn't really sure what to say?

She raked her fingers through his sweat-stained hair and touched his mouth. "No regrets, right?"

Aaron grinned widely, more relieved than he ever expected by those three little words. "No," he replied, kissing her with a newfound hunger. It was emotion, not passion, and it was more powerful than anything.

Marta chuckled lightly against his lips, enjoying the look of confusion on his handsome face. "I think our big concern right now is figuring out how to fit comfortably on this damn bunk?"

He chuckled too, easing to the side and draping her over his body until she was lying on top of him. "You're a genius and I have a government sanctioned IQ. We'll figure it out." His hands automatically gravitated toward the dark thigh highs still encasing her soft legs.

She licked her lips, trying not to focus on the fact that he was growing against her thigh so early after their encounter. Those chemicals definitely had their advantages. "Hmmmm..." she sighed, staring into his watchful gaze. "Thank you for coming for me, Aaron."

He just looked at her. "There was never any other option, Marta."

"Because you owe me?"

He touched her face before sliding his fingers downward, stopping on her breast. He shook his head, no. "Not owe, need."

She bent, taking his mouth firmly until they were both breathing a lot heavier. "So what do you think about this position? Conducive to sleep?"

His hands fisted in her hair and they were kissing again, slowly but with a clear and leading purpose. Sleep was not going to be part of the agenda.

Marta found that she was okay with a trial by error process. I mean, _eventually_ they would find a way to be comfortable together on this one-man bed...right?


End file.
